Four Times Rory Didn't Tell Logan She Loved Him, and One Time She Did
by bb52
Summary: When three words can make a difference.


**ONE.**

London in January is depressingly cold, unyieldingly grey. Rory walks down Kensington High Street and watches her breath come to life before her in thin, white clouds. She pulls her scarf over her mouth and nose, just to keep the heat in; now all that can be seen is porcelain skin, punctuated by blue eyes. She hustles towards her destination, knowing that warmth awaits her there. Four quick steps up to the front door, a punch of the button, and before Rory can take another cold, labored breath, she is buzzed in.

She takes the lift-instead of climbing five flights to the penthouse-so that she can steady herself. As the car zips to the top floor, she closes her eyes, slowly inhales and exhales, and remembers why she's here.

The door opens and Logan's smiling face greets her. Before she can say a word, he pulls her in for a kiss. It's not a greeting, but a hungry demand and she matches it with unabashed compliance. _This_ is why she's here.

After, they lie next to one another, the grey sky turned black, dotted with tiny specks of light. They gaze softly at each other and as she watches him watching her, Rory allows herself to remember how they got here-a joining of hands and a jump towards the unknown, many years ago. And now, for the first time in a long time, she lets herself feel what she has tried to forget.

For a minute, she considers saying the words out loud. Luckily, Logan presses his lips to hers and she doesn't have to.

* * *

 **TWO.**

It is 2 am in New York City. She lies on the bed in their hotel room, staring at the ceiling, thinking about today-how an unsuccessful attempt at writing a story led her to a strange man, a strange apartment and a simmering admonishment from her mother, who sleeps peacefully in the partnering bed. Rory knows why this all _feels_ so bad-not because it makes her feel behind in life or out of control, but because it makes her stir with guilt. And not for the reason or person it should.

She gets up soundlessly, careful not to wake Lorelai. Tiptoeing out the door, Rory walks towards the opposite end of the hall where a window overlooks Midtown below. She settles down on the narrow windowsill and dials his number on her phone.

"You're up late, Ace," amusement in his voice.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Something on your mind?"

"I...I went home with a Wookie tonight."

He chuckles, "And what exactly does that mean?"

A sound of exasperation escapes her.

"Ace, that doesn't really make things clearer for me."

"I slept with someone else."

The stillness on the other end goes on longer than Rory cares for.

"I see. Well, what do you want me to say?" his tone something akin to sadness.

"I don't know. I just felt like I had to tell you. It's not what we agreed upon, but I couldn't let it go-I couldn't _not_ tell you. It didn't feel right."

"And why is that?"

She knows why, yet she still can't tell him. Not like this.

So instead, mustering the closest thing to indifference she can, "Because I know you've always had this little Star Wars fantasy floating in that head of yours and now, I've probably ruined it for you. You'll always have the image of me and the Wookie and now it'll never be the same."

Logan offers a stifled laugh, "As long as _you_ weren't the Wookie, I think I could learn how to forget."

* * *

 **THREE.**

 _Because we're nothing._

The words replay in her head and she can hardly believe that she actually said them out loud-that now, he thinks he means _nothing_ to her. Rory wishes she could take it back, but she knows that there is no point.

In the offices of _The Gazette,_ she sits at her desk, attention on her computer screen, too much bourbon in her veins. Glass in hand, she continues to drink while carefully reading about the woman she has avidly worked hard to know nothing about. All of the fancy schools she attended. Her career as a fashion blogger. The charities she supports. Names of her famous friends. The staggering worth of the fortune she is set to inherit. _Their_ wedding plans.

Rory keeps reading, and digging, even though every word keeps the pain fresh. Perhaps this is what she needs to make herself believe that she and Logan really are through. That despite their history and what once existed between them, _nothing_ is exactly what they've become to one another.

Her perusal is interrupted when her phone begins to vibrate. _Logan_.

Rory thinks about what she will say when she picks up.

 _I'm sorry. You mean more to me than you could ever know. I love you._

Then, she remembers-she remembers why things need to be this way.

The buzzing ends. A minute later, a _New Voicemail_ notification appears on the screen _._

With an ease and conviction Rory didn't know she possessed, she deletes the message.

In her head, she replaces those three words-the ones that could change everything-with these.

 _Because we're nothing._

* * *

 **FOUR.**

They are sitting in the tango club, sequestered behind beaded curtains, feigning interest in the scene in front of them.

Rory tries, unsuccessfully, to pretend she doesn't care about the man next to her. But then, Logan offers her a key and hope with such absolute affection that it makes Rory's heart ache.

In that instant, it becomes clear that if she ever had a chance to say how she _really_ feels, now is the time.

Why would else would he come here? To have one last wild night of fun? To say goodbye?

No. Logan is here because he wants to hear _her_ say the words. He wants Rory to give him a reason _not_ to follow through with what his position, family, and future legacy demands.

Finally, she asks him the only question that there is left to ask.

"Are you really gonna marry Odette?"

"That's the dynastic plan."

Logan face is overcome with _that_ look, the one she's seen so many times before. In Martha's Vineyard as the realization of his life after Yale washed over them. That morning in their apartment before he left for London. In that cafe in Hamburg, when told her that-in spite of everything that had happened and all the years in between-Rory was still the great love of his life.

Rory knows this is her opportunity to say what has been in her heart not just this past year, but since Logan left her standing in her graduation gown, stunned and broken-hearted, nine years ago.

Still, as she has before, Rory does what she knows she must-push Logan Huntzberger towards his destiny. She swallows the truth and lets it die in her throat.

Rory settles her attention on the scene of bodies moving in perfectly orchestrated unison in front of her, willing herself not to fall apart. In the corner of her eye, she can see Logan, gaze fixed upon her.

And she knows-he is willing himself to do the same.

* * *

 **ONE.**

London in January is depressingly cold, unyieldingly grey. Rory walks down Kensington High Street, watches her breath come to life before her in thin, white clouds. She pulls her scarf over her mouth and nose, just to keep the heat in; now all that can be seen is porcelain skin, punctuated by blue eyes. She hustles towards her destination, knowing that warmth awaits her there. Four quick steps up to the front door, a punch of the button, and before she can take another cold, labored breath, she is buzzed in.

She takes the lift-instead of climbing five flights to the penthouse-so that she can steady herself. As the car zips to the top floor, she closes her eyes, places her hands over stomach, slowly inhales and exhales, and remembers why she's here.

The door opens and Logan's shocked expression greets her.

"Ace."

"I heard about what happened with the wedding. I almost didn't believe it when Finn told me that it was called it off. I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

Logan's face folds with joy and relief. Rory smiles and he doesn't hesitate to pull her in for a kiss.

This time, it's not a simple greeting or a hungry demand. It's an expression of everything that they never said to each other when they had the chance, but maybe now they will.

They separate for a moment, their foreheads still touching, Logan's hands framing Rory's face.

Eyes locked, she tells him, "I love you."

He can't help but laugh. "Damn it, Ace. Did you have to wait so long to say it? I love you, too. So much."

He kisses her again; this time it's an assertion, a promise.

To start over, to right the wrongs of their past, to learn what it means to build something new and better and stronger in place of the spectre of what once was. A pledge to make a good life, together.

They embrace and Rory feels a flutter in her belly.

 _This_ is why she's here.


End file.
